World junior overkill has taken its toll.
Confession: Today’s column is strictly between us, not to be shared with anyone.
This may come across as unpatriotic, or a thumbing of the nose at one of the events that does help organisms like me eke out a meagre living, but I seem to be afflicted with world junior burnout.
The 2018 world junior hockey championship captivated most of a hockey-loving nation, but it was difficult for yours truly to maintain a vital interest in the event.
Thirty-plus years and three chins ago, this was never an issue.
I recall the days, before TSN’s saturation coverage was even remotely imaginable, when a world junior game involving Canada would put my shallow little life on hold for a few hours.
In 1986, for example, the final between Canada and Russia was broadcast live on CBC Radio. I was attuned to every precious word.
My New Year’s resolution for 1986 was to stop swearing. I made it to Jan. 2.
That evening in Hamilton, the Soviet Union defeated Canada 4-1. I was listening to the game in the fine company of Mark and Roxanne Anderson as we drove back to Regina after spending a few days in Edmonton.
The Soviets scored a crucial goal, to which I responded with an eloquent “CENSORED!” Oops.
That failed attempt, the ill-fated fix of ’86, is still referred to as the Russian Resolution.
Fast forward to Jan. 5, 2011. Canada was again playing the Russians at the world juniors, in the gold-medal game. The game was decided while I was en route to Calgary via WestJet, which offered the miracle that is satellite television.
I might have been the only passenger who was not captivated by the hockey game. Truth be known, I didn’t even turn on the mini-TV. Instead, I conked out, lost to the world in Seat 14B.
Suddenly, there was screaming — the last thing you want to hear at 35,000 feet. I woke up with a jolt and discovered that Canada had collapsed in the third period.
Make the final: Russia 5, Canada 3. A younger version of myself would have been despondent over the outcome. The wrinkled version was rankled by the fact that a desperately needed beauty sleep had been disrupted.
How did it come to this?
I love sports, hockey being one of my favourites.
I am a proud Canadian — as evidenced by the fact that I staunchly support Canada’s team, the Winnipeg Jets.
A significant portion of my make-believe career has been spent covering junior hockey, something that will always be near and dear to my heart.
Yet, I am increasingly blase about the world juniors.
Maybe it has something to do with (cue fanfare) Instant Analysis (!!!) from the summer camp.
Maybe it was too many years of Pierre McGuire screaming at me. (“A double Dion!”)
Could it be that the novelty of international hockey has worn off ?
Am I just getting old and grumpy?
Perhaps it was the succession of hyped-up games that, in reality, were devoid of meaning. (Canada versus Switzerland ... in a playoff game?)
It’s just too much.
To this curmudgeonly scribbler, the world juniors are comparable to a hard-sell advertisement. After a while, the bombardment leads to fatigue, which leads to this column.
This, I recognize, is a minority view. Several million people have a voracious appetite for all things world junior.
And, really, who am I — someone who inundated the readership with columns about Saskatchewan Roughriders quarterback Kevin Glenn during the 2017 CFL season — to lament any sort of overkill?
The hypocrisy is truly galling.
Any outraged responses are certainly warranted. With my accustomed (burp) grace, I will accept any and all negative feedback.
No swearing, please.